The wind is something new,

consummated by the gods

to bring me the scent of pine,

is something I can balance on

my shoulders like an infant

at the fair, not so heavy as to

weigh me down, but there

to remind me

 

of things still living as dead

leaves skitter in its wake, as

maple saplings bend to its

power.

 

Let it set the walls to quake

and raise the settled dust,

and I will celebrate its birth